Stick Figure
by xmakethiscount
Summary: He stared at the drawing that I drew, slightly confused. 'This is a stick figure.' I nodded and told him I already knew that. I boldly told him that that is exactly what I wanted to look like. A stick figure.


So, I guess I should tell you a little bit about myself. I'll spice this introduction up a bit, since all of my old journals' introductions were similar to each other. Lack of creativity. But now, after eight years, I like to believe that I've matured. I'm fifteen. (A freshman in high school! Yes!) A big step up from seven years old, when I got my very first journal. I've gone through about seven journals, and you, my friend, are the eighth. You're possibly the prettiest journal I've possessed so far. First of all, my lovely mother purchased you and, might I add, she has very good taste. Your wonderful burgundy leather cover is magnificent and the gorgeous, clean, white pages that are paneled with gold, are just screaming at me to write my deepest thoughts on them. And that's what I plan on doing. I got a little off topic. Wasn't I supposed to be talking about myself?

First and foremost, I'm Jenny. Jenny Humphrey. I live in 'The Upper East Side'. Confused? Yeah, me too. Basically, I live in the rich side of New York. (Manhattan, to be exact.) Sure, it's an honor to live in such a marvelous place; where the ladies change into at least five different outfits a day for certain events. Where the men dress in sophisticated suits, never to be seen in just running shorts and a t-shirt. It is basically illegal to be seen that way. For a woman, or a man. But the Upper East Side just doesn't fascinate me.

Occasionally, people have told me how beautiful I am, and how blessed I should be to have wonderful golden locks and piercing blue eyes to complete the package. I'm thankful for my natural features and I honestly don't even try to look nice. I really don't even notice the things I wear. I've gotten weird looks at school, because I don't accessorize my school uniform like all the other girls do. I'm more in to the academics, than if my uniform is up-to-date with all the latest trends. But with my mother being a chairman at the Prep School, she notices for me.

My mom is the notorious Alison Humphrey. She's a beautiful married (Duh) woman with two children. One of them being me. Of course. She has dirty blond hair, caramel brown eyes, and a slim hourglass figure. She's the fantasy of every man's dreams. She isn't employed, and neither are the other mothers in the Upper East Side, but she's involved with the Prep School my brother and I attend. She's involved with special events the school does and with drafting kids around the country to come here and further their studies or athleticism. Aside from her participation in Glenwood Preparatory, she's a big time, full-blown, professional shopper. It's nothing to freak out about; most women here are like that. My mom probably shops three times a day. But that's normal, too. I honestly don't see how she can do it. Amazingly enough, it never puts a dent in our family expenses. And who do we have to thank for that? My lovely father, Rufus Humphrey.

He's got a dark brown head of hair, captivating blue eyes like mine, and has a grungey, yet sophisticated style. Unlike most men that reside here. Rufus Humphrey, although I like to call him dad, owns many art galleries around New York. Successful art galleries, in fact. So successful that famous artists all around the world come to Manhattan to see and purchase his artwork. So very successful that he's too engrossed in his fabulous career, to notice his fabulous family standing before him. Sure, he provides us with an enormous apartment, an illustrious Prep School for Dan and I, and of course, **money.** Lots of it. I'd give away all the money in the world to see my dad at least once every day. I'm pretty sure Dan feels the same way.

Dan, Dan, Dan. Daniel Humphrey. We'll keep his real name under wraps. He hates it when anyone calls him Daniel. Anyway, Dan is my splendid older brother. Of course, he thinks he has authority because he's a Senior. Big whoop. In three years, I'll be a Senior, too. But then again, he'll be a freakin' Junior in College. (I think?) But that's beside the point, also. Dan's an amazing writer. He studies hard and is pretty level-headed, unlike most of the Senior men at Glenwood. He's currently in a steady relationship with Miss Serena VanDerWoodsen. Serena's pretty level-headed as well. Put them together and they're the level-headed power couple. Nothing can tear them apart. Not even a little sister like me. Dan and I used to be so close. We'd always have fun standing outside our apartment complex and make fun of all the well-dressed women walking down the sidewalk, apparently uncomfortable from their itchy pieces of clothing. We'd have so many inside jokes, that eventually there were too many to count. We even had a special funny face.

But I guess that was then, and this is now. You know, sometimes I wish Dan and I hadn't ever grown up. Sometimes I wish our family wasn't so wealthy and lived in some other state like Kansas, and received happiness with each other's company; and not pleading for it with money. Sometimes..sometimes I wish my dog, Trixie, would stop peeing in my room. And sometimes? Sometimes things just don't happen the way you want them to.

--

Today, my mom dragged me out of our apartment to go shopping for a special event she was hosting in a few weeks. Apparently, Glenwood Prep was known for their annual Masquerade Ball. Does she honestly think I'd want to go to some event that consisted of conceited girls and sleazy boys, all politely and secretly urging the opposite sex to have some fun afterwards at a five star hotel? No, I'd rather stay at home and snack on popcorn while reading Robert Frost's poetry, possibly watching a movie later on. Of course, though, I obeyed and went with her, knowing full well that I couldn't get myself out of this.

We arrived at a place called Oakdales. I guess it was 'the place to go' for all your special occasion needs. Mom got all giddy when we stepped foot in that place. She practically dragged me to a section of dresses, a handful of dresses already piling up on her arm. "How about this one, Jen?" No, mother, I never liked the color purple. Or pink. Ew, especially pukey green. I begged the woman to pick something less..fruity.

It was getting ridiculous! She wouldn't stop sizing me up with different kinds of dresses, choosing colors that made me gag.

"C'mon, Jenny. How about this one?" She held up a creamy yellow strapless dress in front of me and checked my reflection in the mirror. It actually didn't look bad. I shrugged, saying that it was okay, when all of a sudden, I was pushed into a dressing room with the dress.

I dressed out of my jeans and t-shirt, slipping on the gorgeous yellow dress. I was beginning to like it. A lot. I stepped out of the dressing room and approached my mom. At first she smiled at how I even had the tolerance to try on the dress, but her smile was soon replaced with a grimace. Once again, she stared at my reflection in the mirror, that grimace still plastered on her perfectly tanned face. Honestly, I thought I looked pretty good. But I guess she didn't feel the same way. She shook her head slightly and searched for a different dress on the racks.

I turned around and asked her why she didn't like it.

"Oh, I like the dress, honey. It's just that your figure doesn't fit well with the magnificent dress."

She turned to face me, noticing the hurt written all over my face. She gave me a shocked look, as if it was a surprise to see me hurt by her last remark. Just so you know, this happens all the time. I don't think she realizes how insulting she could be. But I don't think I'll ever build up the courage to tell her so.

"We can get the dress, darling. I mean, if you really like it."

I nodded silently and went into the dressing room, looking at my reflection in the long skinny mirror behind the dressing room door. Sure, I wasn't super skinny like all the other girls at school. But I didn't think I looked bad. The dress didn't make me look fat or anything. At least I didn't think so?

I changed back into my shirt and jeans, walking out of the dressing room with the yellow dress on the plastic hanger. Mom smiled sweetly at me and I handed her the dress. She gave it to the cashier and rang us up, my mom's bizarre smile still gracing her face.

"How about we go out to lunch? I know a great restaurant. It's a healthy place. Low fat food. You'll like it."

Was that some hint? I couldn't tell, because mom's never much of an eater. Every time our family would go out to eat at a fancy restaurant, she'd order something for herself, and after a few bites, she'd whine about how full she was and scrape her plate onto dad and Dan's plate. Dad and Dan didn't mind, of course. I don't even think they notice.

She grabbed the bag from the cashier and handed it to me, as we both walked out of the store, onto the sidewalk. Her maroon dress flowed in the wind and her matching pumps clanked against the cement. Today was the first day that I realized why so many other mothers envied her. She was flawless and seemingly invincible with her perfectly coordinated outfit. Today was the first day that I, for one, envied her.

I envy her.

* * *

**First Gossip Girl story! This is mainly about the character, Jenny Humphrey. The sweet and innocent young blond. I'll be adding a few original characters and I also bended a few things about Jenny's personality so it'd fit with the whole story. I hope you like it!**


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